


Renaissance

by HighFunctioningSarah



Category: The Walking Dead (TV)
Genre: Aftermath of Violence, Alexandria Safe-Zone (Walking Dead), Blood and Gore, Blood and Violence, Canon-Typical Violence, Canonical Character Death, Crew as Family, Daryl Dixon Angst, Daryl Dixon Needs a Hug, Daryl Dixon is Bad at Relationships, Everyone Needs A Hug, Existential Angst, F/M, Fluff, Fluff and Angst, Fluff and Hurt/Comfort, Friends to Lovers, Glenn Rhee Deserved Better, Gun Violence, Hurt Daryl Dixon, Implied Sexual Content, Implied/Referenced Character Death, Implied/Referenced Torture, Insecure Daryl Dixon, Minor Character Death, Negan Being Negan (Walking Dead), Negan Kills Glenn Rhee, No Smut, OC Haunted By Character Deaths, OC x Daryl Dixon - Freeform, Original Characters - Freeform, Parental Carol Peletier, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Pre-Canon References), Protective Daryl Dixon, Protective OC, Protective Siblings, Psychological Horror, Psychological Torture, Psychological Trauma, Relationship Problems, Revenge, Romantic Fluff, Sad with a Happy Ending, Season 7-9 (The Walking Dead), Slow Burn, The Hilltop (Walking Dead), The Kingdom (Walking Dead), The Wholesomely Gruesome Post-Apocalyptic Romance I've Always Wanted to Write, Unhinged oc, Walkers (Walking Dead), Zombies
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-03-14
Updated: 2020-03-28
Packaged: 2021-03-01 03:27:02
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 6
Words: 11,656
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23138419
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/HighFunctioningSarah/pseuds/HighFunctioningSarah
Summary: "That's the problem with living like Kings. When the people don't like the King, they cut off his fucking head."After months of siphoning fuel and trekking down to Georgia, Harper Jane Rhee managed to track down her younger brother, Glenn, and join his group on their arduous journey around the state before settling in the Alexandria Safe Zone. With the rest of their family dead, the pair stay close while the pensive presence of one Daryl Dixon, whose soft eyes swim with the turbulence of a thunderous ocean current, begins to become more inescapably obvious to the older sibling. As the group begins to stir up trouble on the turf of the barbed-wired bat-wielding tyrant by the name of Negan, he proceeds to entirely destroy their lives, sending Harper on a bitter crusade of murderous revenge.[based on seasons 7-9 of The Walking Dead]
Comments: 2
Kudos: 4





	1. Fracture

**Author's Note:**

> Hello there!
> 
> I've recently started to make the move from Wattpad to Ao3 after five years of being in denial about that website. Anyway, I'm here now, and this is the first work I wanted to transfer over! But before we get started, some content warnings: this work contains graphic violence, swearing, depictions of abuse/torture and sexual references. Nothing much more intense than the actual show. Enjoy! Oh, and, don't be afraid to leave a comment, I don't bite (just a little walker joke for you).

**THE SICKENING CRACK** of bones breaking and the tearing of flesh echoed like a nightmarish melody throughout the woods, the relentless sound of gore filling Harper's ears with a chaotic hum. The calves of her jeans were soaked through from the damp soil beneath her, further encouraging the chills that gripped her body. Bloody misting from the repeated bashing had worked itself through her hair, across the left side of her face and clothes. Keeping her mouth clamped shut, she stifled a whimper as another squelch and crack resounded. Acutely aware of every sound and movement made, her eyes remained glued to a patch of grass, tears brimming around the edges.

Harper was frozen to the spot, kneeling in the mud. There was a violent urge to be sick, but her body had shut down so even that movement felt impossible. Eyelids flickering, she resisted the urge to look to her left. All it would take is a single glance, hardly a movement of the head. Afraid of any further punishment, she kept her eyes trained to the plant.

_Don't do something stupid._

Closing her eyes briefly, Harper silently begged that her friends would cooperate with the demands set before them.

Harper took a deep breath through her nose, inhaling the scent of copper. It was a familiar smell, the constant odour of death following the group like a darkened cloud. It had settled upon the them and seeped into their skin, the sombre atmosphere lingering around the space where their friend once kneeled.

_Thank God it wasn't Glenn. It wasn't Maggie and the baby._

The fact that she was relieved, in part - an unsettling ugliness worked through her gut. Looking to her right, the dark-haired woman found herself looking to her brother.

He was mortified.

Eyes wide, mouth stifling a sob, Glenn struggled to fight back tears. His gaze flickered between Abraham, motionless on the ground, to Maggie, barely capable of holding herself upright, to Harper, who had gone rigid and was practically motionless. Repeating the motion like clockwork, it was as if the young Korean had to assure himself that this was all real.

"Oh, my goodness! Look at this!" Negan jeered, flicking some of the blood from Lucille. The sound felt as if it was coming from someplace miles away, voice snatched up by the wind before it could fully meet Harper's ears. A dark chuckle emerged from his throat. "You guys, look at my dirty girl!"

Approaching Rosita, his smile grew wider, holding the bloodied bat inches from her terrified face.

"Sweetheart, lay your eyes on this." A beat passed, and Negan sighed. "Oh, damn. Were you - were you two together? That sucks. But if you were, you should know there was a reason for all of this. Red - and hell, he was, is, and ever will be red. He just took one or six or seven for the team!"

The blood in Harper's veins began to simmer, forcing her teeth to teeth to grate against one another. Rosita's uneven breaths became more audible, borderline ready to hyperventilate. All sympathy fell from Negan's expression, and he pointed at the young woman once more with Lucille. Every pore of his body oozed authority and dominance, demanding attention.

"So take a damn look. Take a damn look!"

Glaringly aware of every movement, Harper could feel Daryl moving before she saw him, the rigidity that had claimed her bones dissipating. In an attempt to stop him, she thrust her hand out to grip his jeans, finding purchase around the ankles. Leaping up from his spot on the ground and discarding his blanket, the hunter ripped free of her grasp and landed a sharp punch across Negan's jaw, the collision sending a jolt of panic into Harper's heart. Grunting, Daryl reached for the man's leather jacket, intending to land another punch.

Tackled to the ground by one of Negan's men, Daryl fell to the ground. Rick shouted his name, both as a warning and a plea not to try anything else. Recovering from the blow, the taller man stretched out his jaw with a grimace, as if Daryl had just signed his own death certificate.

"No!" He shouted, glaring down at Daryl. Taking a moment to let the silence hang in the air, he chuckled. "Oh, no. That? Oh, my! That is a no-no. The whole thing - not one bit of that shit flies here."

If her body had been stiff before, it was crackling with frenetic energy now. Jaw wobbling, Harper wrung her shaking hands together and took deep, aching breaths, swaying slightly. Every atom in her body begged for movement, preventing her from being still.

Held down by the men, Daryl's gaze followed another man who had approached, armed with his crossbow. While fearful, he still had a murderous look in his eyes, glaring directly at Negan - challenging him.

_No. No one else._

"Do you want me to do it?" He asked. "Right here."

Pulling Daryl's hair back and away from his face, Negan watched as Daryl grunted. 

_Please, no._

"No." Negan replied, a small smirk playing at his features. "No, you don't kill them, not until you try a little."

Dwight lowered the crossbow apprehensively, helping the other men drag Daryl away. He kept grunting, struggling to fight them back.

"And anyway, thats not how it works. Now, I already told you people - the first one's free, then - what'd I say? I said I would shut that shit down, no exceptions."

Harper could sense where this was going. Stomach coiling, her gut filled with dread.

"Now, I don't know what kid of lying assholes you've been dealing with, but I'm a man of my word. First impressions are important. I need you to know me. So... **back to it**."

Negan turned around, bringing Lucille down over Glenn's head, smashing his skull open.

Harper felt a stabbing pain in her chest, and she felt shock reverberate throughout her body. Her form burned even more to move - to help him, but the self-preserving, horrified part of her brain could hardly process what was happening.

He was her only real family left. Surely, if she stopped the onslaught now, intervened somehow-

Harper knew that from the first blow, he was already as good as dead. Unlike with Abraham, she was unable to rip her gaze away. Watching as Glenn struggled to get back up, only to receive another hit at the back of his head and slump back to the ground, Harper was transfixed on his struggling form. Maggie cried out and captured Harper's horrified gaze, the sound ripping a gaping hole into her chest. Her brother, she sister-in-law, they were suffering.

_Move. You've gotta do something goddamnit, fucking move!_

Slowly turning back to face Glenn, Harper felt all warmth leave her body as she saw what remained of his face. Head split down the middle, blood poured from the wound on his forehead and towards his hairline. A huge, gaping dent had appeared on his skull, hair and bone sticking up unnaturally from the top of his head. The pressure from the blow had caused one of his eyes to pop out of its socket, bloodshot and unblinking.

Groaning, Glenn struggled to speak. Sputtering, he turned to look at Harper, before lingering on Maggie. The guttural sounds he made only caused the tears in both women's eyes to worsen. It wasn't a sound someone was supposed to make, it was something painful and instinctive.

"Buddy, you still there?" Negan asked, condescending. Bending down to look the Korean in the eyes, he smirked, amused. "I just don't know. It seems like you're trying to speak, but you just took one hell of a hit. I just popped your skull so hard, your eyeball just popped out, and it is gross as shit!"

Harper scowled in repulsion. Fists clenching, she resisted the urge to beat the man senseless. She could feel herself slipping, losing control.

"Maggie... I'll find you." Turning his head to face his sister, Glenn continued. "Janie..."

Harper swallowed, hard, face relaxing in comfort as tears fell down her cheeks. She hadn't even realised they were building.

"See you soon." She replied, voice unwavering. Moments passed, the group stunned into silence. The only sound that could be heard was the chirping of crickets, as well as Maggie's sobs.

"Oh. Oh, hell. I can see this is hard on you guys." Negan said condescendingly, ripping Harper from the softer expression she had adopted. "I am sorry. I truly am. But I did say it. No exceptions!"

Hitting the side of Glenn's head with the bat, Negan raised it again to bash in his skull, the squelching of his brain and bones inescapable. Bringing the bat above his head, he brought it down on Glenn again and again until there was nothing recognisable left behind. It was just a body. It was **just** a body.

Ears ringing, her brain seemed to process things far too slow, gaze unable to focus on anything in particular. Hatred gripped Harper like a vice, choking the air out of her lungs and filling her with an insatiable hunger for blood. It brought her nails further into her palms, feet digging into the ground. She longed to have her hands around his neck, to watch the life leak out of him. Harper was going to kill him. She was going to make it long and painful, and he was going to wish some walker had bitten him the day of the outbreak.

"You bunch of pussies."

Another blow was swiftly delivered, blood jumping from Glenn's form. Hands twitching, his corpse otherwise remained motionless on the ground. The dark-haired woman could feel her hands doing the same jolting motion.

"I'm just getting started. Lucille is thirsty." Laughing, Negan continued. "She is a vampire bat."

Another silence stretched out before the group, Harper glaring at the man with pure loathing.

"What? Was the joke that bad?"

The mere sight of him disgusting her, Harper looked to her sister-in-law. The woman was hardly holding herself together, pale and shaking. Shattered, she rocked herself gently, unable to tear her gaze from her husband's corpse. Sickly skin coated in a sheen of sweat, the young woman looked close to dead. With her first instinct being concern, Harper licked her lips nervously.

"I'm going to kill you." Rick muttered.

Freezing, Harper felt her chest seize up again, frantic. This was the exact opposite of what the group should be doing.

"Rick!" She hissed.

Negan knelt down in the gravel, Lucille being the only thing separating the pair. A dark, daring look played at his features.

"What?" He said, daring the leader to repeat himself. "I didn't quite catch that, you're going to need to speak up."

"Rick, shut the **hell** up-" Harper hissed.

Holding out a finger to shush her, Negan kept his eyes fixed on Rick. The deputy took a moment to compose himself, taking a deep breath and adjusting his position on the ground.

"Not today, not tomorrow." He said, looking the man right in the eyes. "But I'm gonna kill you."

Releasing a shaky breath, Harper prepared herself for another blow. This was it. Somebody else was going to die because Rick was unable to swallow his own pride. There was going to be another body. Another bludgeoning, another wave of tears and mourning and emptiness and praying that there wouldn't be anyone else taken, that the pain and suffering and dread would finally end.

Negan kissed his teeth. "Jesus... Simon. What did he have? A knife?"

"Yeah, he had a hatchet."

"A **hatchet**?" Negan questioned.

"He had an axe."

Nodding, the bat-weilding man looked to Rick once more.

"Simon's my right-hand man. Having one of those is important. I mean, what do you have left without them? A whole lot of work. Do you have one? Maybe one of these fine people still breathing? Oh. Or did I..."

Clicking his tongue, Negan motioned a hit with Lucille.

Taking gulps of air, Harper attempted to calm herself. She had to think about survival.

Negan sighed.

"Sure. Yeah. Give me his axe."

Simon trudged towards them, handing the axe over with a grim look. Getting a feel for the axe, Negan took a deep breath and gripped Rick by the shoulder, dragging him along the gravel. Struggling, the deputy tried to escape his grasp. It had little to no effect, the taller of the pair simply opening the door to the RV and throwing him inside.

"I'll be right back. Maybe Rick will be with me. And if not, well, we can just turn these people inside out, won't we? I mean... the ones that are left."

Someone cried out, and Harper leaned backward, resigned in her fury. Spitting on the ground beside her, she held a vengeful look and glared down the RV as it drove off. Everything burned in visceral hatred.

_We barely even **are** people anymore._


	2. Protector

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> We've got a bit of a reprieve from the intensity this time, but things are far from happy.

**AS HOT TEARS** trailed down her cheeks, Harper numbly kneeled against the gravel. Eyes squinted shut, she could no longer stand the sight of her brother's mangled form, nor the space where Abraham once sat. It felt like someone had stabbed her in the gut, the knife constantly twisting, ripping a new wound open and forcing a new wave of nausea upon her. Wrapping her arms around her stomach, she couldn't help but crumple over with a soft whimper.

After everything that she had survived with her brother, Harper refused to believe that **this** was how he died. Beaten to a bloody pulp by a psychotic tyrant, leaving nothing recognisable behind. Just an empty, broken vessel, a dark reminder of the fate they all likely shared.

Releasing a puff of air, Harper watched as the stars twinkled in the sky. Moonlight enveloped the clearing, casting an ephemeral glow against the leaves as they rustled like dancers in a spotlight. A soft breeze brushed the treetops, chilly against her flushed cheeks and wafting through the hair that had loosened from its braid.

The night would have been beautiful if not what had happened there.

Harper remembered a similar skyline the day she found her brother after weeks of travelling south from Michigan all the way to Atlanta.

Exhausted, she had been driving in her banged-up Commodore from home on practically no sleep, with only a few days worth of rations and water left in the trunk. A map sat atop the bloodstained passenger seat beside her, with different areas of Georgia highlighted and crossed off accordingly. The Korean woman hadn't dared to enter Atlanta more than once, with the hordes of the dead scaring her off completely. Making it as far as her brothers apartment, she found it empty. She hoped Glenn had gotten out of the city.

As the sun dipped below the horizon, Harper brought her car to a stop beside the road despite knowing she would be unable to rest. It was dangerous to drive at night, particularly when the headlights alerted both walkers and unwelcome survivors. Taking a swig of water from her bottle, she opened the car door and checked the surrounding areas. There wasn't anything - or anyone - close by.

Ducking into the forest, Harper ensured there wasn't anybody hiding or waiting for an ambush. A low moan met her ears and sent a jab of fear up her spine. Spinning around, she found one of the dead ones dragging itself along the undergrowth, the lower half of its abdomen and legs torn off. Despite this, the clothes it wore were fairly clean and discolouration had only just altered the skin. Whoever it was must have died recently. Jaw snapping for flesh, its clouded eyes locked onto her ankle. Turning her nose up in disgust, the woman walked over, thrusting her kitchen knife through its skull with a satisfying thump. It slumped to the ground, arms still outstretched.

Looking around a final time, Harper returned to her car and locked the doors. Gripping the knife tightly in her fist, she checked the amount of rounds left in her pistol. Reluctantly, she closed her eyes in an attempt to sleep, on edge.

It was pitch black when she was awoken by the scraping sound of metal on metal. Eyes snapping open, she turned on the interior lights and stared out the window, locking eyes with a man armed with a revolver. Machete half-embedded in the side of the window to jimmy it open, he promptly tugged out his weapon and pointed the gun towards her. Behind him, another man with a crossbow stood.

"Out. Now." The man ordered, his Southern scent strong. He seemed desperate and a little crazed.

Reaching for her map, Harper was interrupted by a disapproving knock on the glass.

"Leave it in the car. Out."

Licking her lips nervously, Harper contemplated her options. There wasn't enough time to shoot or drive off, but the group likely couldn't risk making much noise in the open at night. Then again, that look behind the stranger's eyes said he would do anything to get that car.

Begrudgingly, she opened the door. Just as she was about to pull herself out, the man with the crossbow grabbed her shoulder, collected the gun and dragged her out. Sitting her down on the ground, he shone a flashlight directly in her eyes, the light blinding. Her gaze fell to the concrete road to avoid it.

"Yer sit down, don' make a sound." He warned.

Furrowing her brows, the woman hoped that the pair would, at the very least, let her leave. Even without her car and supplies, Harper could continue her search. Travelling on foot was more than possible, and if she somehow found a bike, then the trip would be much quicker. Releasing a sigh, Harper realised she had no clue where she was going in the first place. Even if Glenn had escaped Atlanta, she didn't know of anywhere he would hole up and wait things out.

If anything, he would've made the trip up to Michigan.

"You guys can take the car. All I need is that map-"

"I told ya to be quiet." The man with the crossbow interrupted.

Shaking her head, Harper continued.

"I'm looking for someone-"

After a few moments of shuffling and opening of car doors, the first man called out in a hushed whisper. A group of survivors emerged from the tree line, among them an old man, a pregnant woman and a child. As the group began to approach the car, still calling out for others, Harper looked back to the ground. These men weren't the self-serving type she had been used to - they had families. With too many people to fit in the car, Harper knew they were after the food.

The door of the car clicked open, and the cans clinked into one another as somebody shoved them into a backpack.

"What are you going to do with her, Rick?" A soft voice asked.

Raising her head from the ground, she looked to silver-haired woman. The man with the pistol, presumably Rick, shook his head lightly, not meeting her eyes.

"Not sure yet." He muttered.

Relief began to work its way through Harper's tight muscles. While the group was clearly desperate and armed, they seemed apprehensive to kill her. It made sense with a kid around.

**"Harper?"**

The cans clattered to the ground, a tin of beans rolling along the uneven road and bumping into her knee. Head snapping towards the sound, the Korean woman stared with widened eyes at her brother. Expression one of disbelief, Glenn took a few steps before breaking out into a run. Standing to meet him, Harper beamed and stepped into his embrace, holding him tightly against her. The sting of tears pricked at her eyes, and she struggled not to cry with relief.

"You're okay." Harper croaked.

"Yeah." Glenn replied, feeling his own eyes water.

Harper buried her head into her brother's shoulder, a sense of closure washing over her. After weeks of travelling, searching for her remaining family, she felt at peace. Even in this broken world, the young woman knew she would survive it. Enduring the trip to Georgia left no doubt in her mind that she would see this through until the end.

After a few moments, the pair broke apart, though Glenn's hands remained on her shoulders.

"Are mom and dad here? Avery, Naomi?"

The smile on Harper's lips faltered.

"Briana?" He asked, hopeless.

She couldn't meet her brother's gaze. Glenn frowned, cursing and looking around the space.

Their parents had not been spared in the outbreak, and neither had Briana. Their reanimated forms claimed Naomi shortly after, with Avery making it to Ohio before succumbing to a scratch along her forearm. Buried somewhere off of Route 41, the youngest Rhee never had the chance to turn. Harper drove a knife into her head once the fever took her.

Nodding, her brother blinked away tears. Wrapping an arm around her shoulder, he wore a bittersweet, half-hearted smile.

"At least we've got each other." He said. Looking to his group, he was the happiest they had seen him in a long time, despite the news of the rest of his family.

Harper wished she could live through that moment again. To watch her younger brother's face light up, the unbridled hope and joy in his eyes.

She already missed him.

The sputtering groan of the RV grew louder, causing Harper's eyes to snap open. It was daylight now, and the air around the group had grown even more tense, every member anxious to see if their leader would return. They had little time to wonder, the door swinging open mere moments after the engine cut out.

Dragging Rick across the ground by his collar, Negan took long strides. Throwing him to the side, he smiled, watched the man recoil with his axe in hand. "Let me ask you something, Rick -- do you even know what that little trip was about? Speak when you're spoken to."

"Okay. Okay." The deputy panted.

Looking out into the forest, Negan set his sights lower, meeting Harper's hard gaze. The younger woman would not dare tear her eyes away, the sheer anger in her bones fuelling her bravery. Smirking, he continued.

"That trip was about the way that you looked at me. I wanted to change that. I wanted you to understand. But you're still looking at me the same damn way... like I shit in your scrambled eggs, and that's not gonna work. So..." Negan crouched, clutching Lucille loosely in his hands. "Do I give you another chance?"

"Yeah." Rick responded breathily. "Yes. Yes."

Patting his back, Negan rose from his position on the gravel.

"Okay." Negan chuckled. "Alright. And here it is - the grand-prize game. What you do next will decide whether your crap day becomes everyone's **last** crap day or just another crap day. Get some guns to the back of their heads."

Harper felt her heart sink. The men positioned themselves behind each of her friends, automatics and handguns alike pointed at their skulls. None of this would've happened if they had just **listened** to her and abandoned the attack on the outpost.

"Good. Now... level with their noses, so if you have to fire..." He raised his gloved hand towards his face and spread out his finger, imitating an explosion. "It'll be a **real** mess. Kid... Right here."

Carl didn't move.

"Kid...now."

Standing, Carl reluctantly walked over to the pair, Negan undoing his belt and holding it in his hand.

"You a southpaw?" He asked.

"Am I a what?"

"You a lefty?" Negan clarified.

"No."

"Good." Wrapping the belt around Carl's arm, he slowed the bucket into a loophole. "That hurt?"

"No."

"Should. It's supposed to. All right. Get down on the ground, kid, next to Daddy. Spread them wings." Plucking the sheriff's hat from the teen's head, it landed on the ground with a soft grinding sound as the gravel shifted. Once Carl was on the ground, Negan pushed him flat against the rocks, ensuring there was so space between himself and the floor. Looking to his men, Negan scratched his jaw. "Simon... you got a pen?"

"Yeah."

Tossing the black marker, Simon took a step back. Negan caught it deftly, taking the lid between his teeth and pulling it off. Kneeling, the positioned himself between the two Grimes.

"Sorry, kid. This is gonna be as cold as a warlock's ballsack, just like he was hanging his ballsack above you and dragging it right across the forearm. There you go. Gives you a little leverage."

Scowling, Harper looked in horror as she noticed the dark line across Carl's forearm.

"Please. Please. Please don't. Please don't." Rick repeated, sounding like a madman.

"Me?" Negan chuckled. "I ain't doing shit. Ahh. Rick, I want you to take your axe... cut your son's left arm off, right on that line. Now, I know -- I know. You're gonna have to process that for a second. That makes sense. Still, though, I'm gonna need you to do it, or all these people are gonna die. Then Carl dies, then the people back home die... and then you, eventually. I'm gonna keep you breathing for a few years, just so you can stew on it."

"You - You don't have to do this. We understand. We understand." Michonne repeated. The group exuded desperation, and the saviours knew it.

"You understand. Yeah. I'm not sure that Rick does. I'm gonna need a clean cut right there on that line. Now, I know this is a screwed-up thing to ask, but it's gonna have to be like a salami slice - nothing messy, clean, forty-five degrees - give us something to fold over. We got a great doctor. The kid'll be fine. Probably. Rick... this needs to happen now - chop, chop." He said, Lucille hovering menacingly over Carl's head. " **Or** I will crush the little fella's skull myself."

"It can - It can - It can be me. It can be me." Rick spluttered, barely intelligible. "Y-You can do it to me. I c- I can go with - with you."

"No. This is the only way. Rick... pick up the axe. Not making a decision is a **big** decision. You really want to see all these people die? You will. You will see **every** **ugly** **thing**."

Rick made no move, groaning with dread.

"Are you gonna make me count? Okay, Rick. You win. I am counting."

"Please." Rick begged, crying.

"Three!" Negan yelled back, raising three fingers in the air. Rick continued to sob, shaking his head, as if trying to deny what was in front of him.

"Two!"

Pleading, Rick continued to rock himself, animalistic cries coming from his mouth. Slapping him, Negan gripped his jaw to look the deputy in the eyes.

"This is it."

Screaming, Rick's eyes fixed on the axe before him, fumbling for the handle.

_You don't make it long in this world without an arm._

"One!"

Another sob.

"Dad... just do it." Carl said, eerily calm. "Just do it."

Sobbing, Rick raised the axe above his head. Instinctively, Carl flinched, pulling his hand back. The man continued to yell, his desperate cries bringing tears into Harper's eyes.

Crouching, Negan made no move to stop him, with Rick instead lowering the axe. Taking rapid, shallow breaths, the deputy began to hyperventilate.

"You answer to me. You provide for me. You belong to me. Right?"

Rick nodded vigorously.

"Speak when you're spoken to!" Negan screamed, turning Rick's head to face him. "You answer to me. You provide for me."

"Provide for you."

"You belong to me, right?!"

"Right." Rick whispered, completely shattered.

"Right. **That**... is the look I wanted to see." Negan emphasised, rising. Eyes darting to Harper's, he watched her with caution. Collecting the axe, he made his way towards the middle of the semicircle. "We did it... all of us, together... even the dead guys on the ground. Hell, they get the spirit award, for sure. Today was a **productive** damn day!"

Negan sighed.

"Now, I hope, for all your sake... that you get it now... that you understand how things work. Things have changed. Whatever you had going for you... that is over now." Sighing with content, he pointed to the redneck to her right. "Ah. Dwight... load him up."

Something inside Harper snapped. Body weight shifting to move, she took a crouched step towards Negan.

"Stop! Please." Harper said. The group went quiet, the only sound being Daryl's grunts as he struggled against the saviours. "No one else."

Chuckling, Negan took a few steps closer to her, yet she did not flinch.

"Why do you wanna keep him around?" Negan asked casually. "He's the reason your brother - and I'm assuming he was your brother, because you looked a whole lot alike before I smashed his skull in - is dead."

Swallowing, Harper felt the fire burn in her eyes.

She hated them all. There had been countless times where Rick and his stupidity or ignorance and gotten them into trouble, too proud to admit defeat. Daryl, for his recklessness and rash decision making. Eugene's gutlessness and failure to keep the saviours away. Sasha, Michonne, Carl, Maggie, Aaron, Rosita. She couldn't help but blame the world. Most of all, she blamed Negan, for tearing away the last piece of humanity Harper had left.

"We've lost too many."

Negan tilted his head slightly getting a better look at her. The stony expression she wore held not an ounce of regret.

"You don't really think that. I've seen anger in a lot people before, but that stare you're giving me right now is downright **loathing** , and it isn't just for me."

Creeping closer, Negan sent her a wicked smile. It only made her scowl deepen.

"No. Because below that **tough** **little** **persona** you've got going on, you know this wasn't my fault."

Harper locked her jaw, and she began to fear how much Negan knew just by looking at her. Surely she wasn't that easy to read.

"I like 'em feisty."

Turning to Simon, he gestured towards the young woman before standing.

"Take her as well."

Drawing in a sharp breath, Harper felt cold, harsh hands on her back and arms as they pulled her towards another car. Fighting their grip, she craned her head and sent a final look to her sister-in-law. Sobbing, Maggie was hunched over, the sight causing a daunting realisation to overcome Harper.

She had failed to protect her, just like she had failed to protect Glenn.


	3. The Saviours

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Be careful when you make a deal with the devil, folks

**ROUGHLY SHOVED** **INSIDE** an open doorway, Harper stumbled into a piece of furniture. The force of being pushed into the short table caused her to trip over, sprawling onto the floor. Still facing the entrance, she began to crawl away and back onto her feet. Searching, she scrambled for something to fight back with. There was a clock on the wall, as well as a metal drying rack on the bench. Brows furrowing in confusion, she saw a large television fixed to the far wall, a small light glowing to signal that it was powered.

Nobody had access to those kind of resources anymore. You would need months of searching and hundreds of men to get anywhere near the luxuries the Saviours had, which meant the it was never **just** the Hilltop the Saviours controlled.

As the pair entered the room, Harper stood her ground, stance stiff. The men had taken her pocketknives from her sock and the inside of her belt upon arrival, stowing them away. While she understood their caution, it wasn't as though she could escape the facility with two measly knives against over a hundred people.

"Is that how we treat guests here?" Negan asked, entering the room and turning to the unknown man beside him. Balancing on his bat, he spoke lowly. "This woman has had a **very** long trip. The least we could do is show a little Southern hospitality."

Fear glinting in the other man's eyes, he turned to face Harper quickly.

"I'm sorry about that."

Negan cleared his throat.

"Ma'am." The man added nervously.

Both of the Saviours faced her, as if waiting for a response. Negan gestured for her to speak, gloved hand open and panning toward the now silent man.

"No problem." Harper said, teeth gritted.

Negan opened the door, providing the man with an exit. Following his leader's silent order, he left the two alone in the musty room. The door clicked shut, and the bat-wielding man took a seat on the couch opposite the table. Leaning into the back of the seat, he stretched an arm along the back of the cushions and inspected Lucille, a smug grin on his lips.

Harper's eyes drifted towards the door. While there was no one guarding from inside of the room, she had no doubt someone was standing guard outside.

"Don't bother trying with that. You're smart enough to know how that ends."

Gaze drifting to Negan's relaxed form, Harper began to feel the tightening of anxiety in her muscles. His blasé attitude was unsettling, to say the least.

"Sit down."

With no other real options, the Korean woman cautiously made her way to the armchair opposite of Negan. Out of habit, she sat near the edge, almost a year of driving and fighting preparing her to leave at a moment's notice.

"You look fucking tense. Relax."

Biting her tongue, she knew better than to fire back with a response. The pair sat in silence for a few moments before the man spoke up again.

"Janie, right?"

She shook her head.

"My name is Harper. The guy you murdered called me Janie."

"You know what we do here?" He asked.

Hesitating, Harper looked back to the television. She wondered who must have died to bring them back the flat screen. How many people had died to make they lives comfortable?

"You make people work for you." Harper said cautiously. "They bring you food, resources."

Bringing Lucille forward, he pointed the end towards her face and made a small tapping motion.

"Bingo." He said, smiling and placing the bat down again. "See, I knew you were the smart one. And angry, which is good. Means you're even smarter. You have to be, otherwise you would've done some dumb impulsive shit like our good friend Rick."

Harper made no response, setting her jaw. The more he made assumptions, the more angry she grew. The sheer arrogance radiated from him, the sly smirk plastered across his face just begging to be punched.

"I'm gonna be blunt with you." Negan began. "While we got off to a less than ideal start, you and I share a common goal. We both want to save people. I mean, here I am, providing **unwavering** protection for the people we meet, and all I ask for is a little compensation. And last night, I could see the way you wanted to interfere. When Rick opened his mouth, you were the only one with the fucking guts to try and shut him up, and you didn't even hesitate to try and stop that other guy. I appreciate that."

As Negan continued, a sickening pit began to weigh down Harper's stomach. The fact that he saw them as similar brought her fingers tightly together, squeezing until her knuckles turned white.

She was not like that monster.

"Now, I'm not going to apologise for what happened to your brother. It wasn't your fault, but it wasn't mine either. It was necessary."

A bitter taste entered her mouth, and Harper struggled not to lunge at him and beat him senseless. Everybody had killed. Everyone had done something they weren't proud of to survive. But every time she thought back to that night, all she could see was Glenn's mangled form, his dark locks matted into knots and mingling with the blood on the ground.

It was **anything** but necessary.

Negan paused, smirk growing and daring her to say something. The leader of the Saviours was testing her, and if Harper had any hope of avenging her brother then she would need to play by his rules.

It didn't matter what it cost, so long as she got there.

"They're a stubborn group. You did what you had to."

Taking a moment, he nodded, smile broadening.

"Oh **boy** do I have a good feeling about you." He said. Clapping his hands together, he stood. "Now, I'm gonna let you dwell on this little chat and have a really long, hard look at where you want to end up."

Harper was speechless. She still had no idea why she was here, and given her affiliation with Alexandria, it was more likely for her to be a threat than a friend to the Saviours.

"What do you want from me?" She asked directly.

"The better question is 'what can **I** do for **you**?'."

Swallowing deeply, she nodded. Gaze drifting to the television once more, all she could see was a dark pair of eyes, reflected lifelessly back at her. There was crunching, splitting and a wet, squelching sound. It grew louder, echoing in her ears, the accusatory glare boring into her soul until she could no longer face it, looking down at her hands. Coated in a layer of thick, red blood, she ran them over one another restlessly, sucking in a deep breath. Wiping them over her thighs, she looked up to face Negan.

"Okay." She responded, mouth growing tight.

Smiling, Negan opened the door, revealing the same light-haired man that had shoved Daryl into his van. A guilty expression masked his burnt face.

"Get her something to eat, and find her a room." Negan said, laying the bat across his shoulders lazily. "And keep your eye on this one, she's got more balls than half the pussies working here."

Dwight nodded, leading the way without a word. Looking back down to her hands, the blood had vanished. Gaze snapping to the flat screen, all she could see was the dark screen illuminating her reflection. Harper stood and followed after the Saviour shakily, stiff muscles reluctantly leading her throughout the concrete halls. Saviours eyed her as she passed, and she struggled not to writhe under their judgemental gazes. Sticking close to the lanky man in front of her, she found her hand subconsciously drifting to where her knife once sat.

After a few moments, the pair arrived in a much larger room, the main floor of the industrial warehouse filled with workers. Food, drinks, medicine. There was more than she had ever seen since things went to shit, and it all lay waiting for someone to take it.

Alexandria **needed** those kinds of resources. Some days they struggled to get by, and the Saviours were living like a modern-day monarch.

Dwight collected an apple, shoving it into his mouth before grabbing another and throwing it to Harper. Catching it in one hand, she inspected it before giving in to her aching stomach. Eagerly taking a bite, she barely had time to swallow it before she bit off another chunk, the fervor of her hunger almost rabid. The man watched her cautiously before grabbing a third, scribbling something on a notepad nearby. Collecting a granola bar, he made his way back down the hallway, handing her the third apple.

"You look hungry."

Harper didn't respond, savouring the sweet taste of fresh fruit. She wanted to avoid talking to these people as much as possible. Finishing the first apple in a few minutes, core and all, she moved on to the next one. After almost two days with nothing to eat (though she had lasted far longer before), she would likely need to stop after the apples or she'd make herself sick. 

As the pair made their way into another unfamiliar corridor, Dwight opened one of the doors to reveal a small living space. There was a full kitchen, with its own chairs and bed off to the side. Another television set was propped up on a table, with a door on the left leading to what Harper assumed to be a bathroom. Either they had more than enough resources to spare so that they could give them away to even the most untrustworthy of visitors, or this was some sort of ploy to help convince her to join them. Harper felt it was a mix of both.

"Hot water works if you wanna shower." Dwight said.

Brushing past the shaggy-haired man quickly, Harper almost felt a twinge of relief on her lips. Smothering it, she maintained her neutral expression.

"You want a hand with anything, I'm three doors down, to your right."

A moment of silence settled upon them before Dwight turned awkwardly turned away, leaving the young woman alone. Clearly, he had expected a response. The door softly closed, the only sound occupying the space being the sound of her own breathing.

It was unnerving. It felt unnatural to have so much quiet. No walkers, no people.

Just Harper and her thoughts, dancing around one another in a cycle of avoidance and fear.


	4. Restore

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I couldn't help myself and not update again - I'm way too invested in this fic. Please let me know what you guys think so far!

**THE TAPS SQUEAKED** as Harper turned them, the cold of the metal cutting through her bony fingers. Hands releasing the taps before shakily peeling off her stained and torn shirt, a small tremor was sent through her weak muscles. Aching limbs groaning from the effort, she weakly dropped the fabric to the floor. Removing the rest of her clothing, she could clearly see the bruises along her ribs from the group's attack on the satellite outpost.

Tenderly touching the discoloured flesh, Harper winced upon the contact before taking her hair out if its ponytail and allowing it to flow past her shoulder blades. Stepping gingerly into the scalding water, the young Korean woman relaxed at the feeling despite the temperature. There was something therapeutic about the hot steam filling the space. It brought the knots out of her muscles, turning her flesh pink and raw.

Gripping a small cake of pale soap in her hands, Harper scrubbed at her arms for several moments, the thick layer of grime preventing any lather. As the buildup began to flow down the drain, Harper closed her eyes and felt the water run down the back of her head and through her dark locks. Running her fingers across her scalp, she brought them to rest on her eyes, squinted shut. Placing her entire head underneath the shower head, she let the water surround her.

She felt like she was drowning.

With a sharp intake of breath, Harper opened her eyes, head tilting to gaze up at the roof. Water from the shower dribbled down her face and mouth, slipping off of her chin and flicking around with each jagged breath. After a few moments of standing in the warmth, she slowly regained control of her breathing, lowering her head and twisting the taps again.

The water stopped, steam circling around the shower. Nudging the door open, Harper wrapped the towel around herself and stepped onto the tiles, making her way into the next room over. Searching throughout the cupboards and drawers, she found a long button-down shirt and some oversized jeans. Shrugging the clean fabric over her bony form, she gazed around the room and began to search.

Pocketing a half-empty box of matches from the kitchen drawer, the young woman made her way towards a painting hanging on the wall. Gently removing it, Harper pulled the hook and screw from the small hole drilled there, breaking the two pieces apart. Shoving the screw back into the wall, she reattached the painting and bent the hook to have a better grip. Stabbing it through the denim waist of her jeans, she made sure it was secure before buckling her belt to conceal the potential weapon.

Peering over the television unit, Harper ripped a thin cord from its socket, turning on the flat screen to check that it would still work. Satisfied with the still-glowing surface, she turned the television off and stepped back, positioning her feet on the small plug at the end of the wire. Using her body weight to keep it close to the ground, she pulled the rest of the cord free and began to wrap the plastic in rings, the length just long enough to wrap around someone's throat if need be.

Shoving it between her hip and the jeans, she tightened the belt again and took a few paces towards the door, and some back again. Twisting, Harper stretched to test its hold and felt the cord sticking into her, as well as the hook. Both stayed fastened, and she deemed it safe enough to leave the room without the risk of the two weapons, as well as the matches, being discovered. 

Unsure of what to do, and uncomfortable leaving her small corner of peace, she curled up on a seat, rested her eyes, and fell into a deep sleep.

︽

A knock came from the door, causing the young woman to jolt up from the couch pillow underneath her head. Patting herself down to check once more, she opened the door to reveal the same burned man as before. A small stack of folded clothes were in his hands, and he nodded at her appearance.

"Haven't seen you about since yesterday." Dwight said, holding out the garments and avoiding her eyes. "Figured you might've been avoiding it. I got you some fresh clothes you can keep."

Harper wondered who used to own those clothes.

"Thank you." Harper said, taking the pile and trying to seem sincere.

"Don't worry about it." Dwight responded, shoving his hands into his pockets. "You want to eat?"

Harper nodded. While she felt guilty, she was starving - and there was no way she'd be trusted enough by the Saviours without indulging somehow.

"I'll take you to get some proper food then." Dwight said.

Setting the clothes onto a table, Harper followed the light-haired man into the corridor, memorising the path as they walked. It wasn't long before she was guzzling a warm bowl of soup. While it wasn't the nicest soup she ever had, small morsels of game littered the broth and Harper was grateful something other than apple in her stomach. It warmed her body, already cold despite the steaming shower she had taken.

Dwight shifted uncomfortably in his chair, nibbling on a bread roll. It almost seemed as though he felt intimidated, and the young Korean woman contemplated how to handle the situation. On one hand, she needed these people to feel comfortable and treat her as one of their own, while on the other, this entire operation seemed rule through fear.

"I make you nervous or something?" Harper asked abruptly.

Dwight looked to her with a frown.

"No." The light-haired man responded, looking into Harper's soup. "To be honest, you look like if the wind picked up it'd bowl you over."

Harper narrowed her eyes at him.

"And you look like Freddie Kruger."

Dwight rolled his eyes, dipping his bread in Harper's soup. She sent him a glare.

"Doesn't matter." He mumbled.

The two continued to eat in silence, one of the Saviours strolling up to the table they were sat at, folding her arms. Blonde hair tied up into a plait, the woman held a cocky smirk on her lips, completely ignoring Harper's presence. Sitting down on the table, she blocked all view of Dwight's lanky form.

"Negan wants you to take the girl at some time when you pay a visit to your dog." She said plainly. Dwight looked up at her, eyebrow raised in disbelief. 

Harper didn't know he owned a dog. She wasn't sure of the last time she saw one.

"That's a bit soon. I've hardly even started."

"What can I say?" The woman stated. "He thinks she'll be useful."

Harper grit her teeth, not taking kindly to the blonde's attitude. Dropping the spoon and sticking her hand out, she cleared her throat. Both Saviours turned to face her.

"It's Harper, not **the girl**."

The woman's smirk dropped, replaced by surprise. Taking a firm grip of her hand, the pair shook hands.

"Seems you don't like getting pushed around much either. Name's Laura." She said, leaning closer with a mischievous look on her face. All tension in the air slipped away. "Women who aren't producing for this place or acting as one of Negan's wives are an endangered species here. I'll be looking forward to having another tough bitch around, other than Arat."

Harper stopped shaking her hand but held a firm grip.

"Looking forward to being around some tough people."

Laura released her, rising from her seat on the table. Brushing down her jeans, she gave the pair a wave.

"I'll see you on the next trip out." She said, nodding to Dwight. As the blonde walked away, something dawned on the young woman.

If there was one thing Harper had learnt in her short time with the Saviours, it was that the people here demanded respect. They earned it, made a society from it. **Everything** was about proving your strength.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I promise we'll get to see Daryl in the next chapter! As in the tags, this is a slow burn. Really slow. (take it away Ernie) It's gonna be a bumpy ride.


	5. Body and Blood

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Watch me pretend to know stuff about guns.
> 
> Also, I apologise in advance. I genuinely felt terrible after writing this.

**A STRANGE SENSE** of comfort eased Harper's nerves with the weight of a gun in her hands, the scratched steel grazing her fingertips with a startling intimacy. There was something vulnerable about holding the weapon (despite the physical protection), the ever-looming threat of losing a piece of her humanity more dangerous than the monsters she fought against. Adjusting her hold, the dark-haired woman felt her gaze fixate upon a walker on the other side of the fence.

It had escaped the grip of a worker, now stumbling across towards a pair that were hurriedly strapping a dead one to the fence. The three workers scrambled to keep the situation controlled, but with too many walkers strapped to the fence and rubble there were few places to move. Lining up the shotgun, Harper released a huff and promptly pulled the trigger, watching as the escaped walker fell to the ground, a gaping hole surrounding its right eye and an explosion of blood spattering across the pavement.

One of the workers jumped at the sound, frightened eyes watching Harper as she reloaded. Crouching, he hooked his arm's underneath the walker's armpits, dragging it towards another part of the fence. Maintaining eye contact, he only looked away when Dwight approached the woman, arms crossed. His position as her watchdog and his ever-looming presence had began to bother her.

"Told them there wasn't much point in giving you a shotgun instead of a rifle." Dwight said, nodding his head at the bloody corpse. "Reckon we could give you a slingshot and you'd still hit your mark."

Harper had no response, continuing to scan the area and manage the workers.

"It's just a precaution." She finally said, turning to Dwight with a glint in her features. "You'd be stupid to give someone you've only known for a week something with a scope."

Dwight hummed, the pair watching in silence as the workers continued to slave away in the blaring sun, beige sweaters stained with sweat. Exhaustion radiated off of them, the sight sending Harper's jaw firm and her grip tight on the shotgun.

"You made the right choice, you know." Dwight said, his air of confidence slipping away for a moment. "You're protecting them by being here. You save the really awful shit for yourself, keep them out of it. Might spare some of what you got left."

Harper felt a bitter laugh bubble out of her throat. It came out as a hiss, the young Korean woman looking to him with spite.

"Assuming I've got someone left to protect."

Dwight abandoned his speech, adjusting his hold on the rifle before walking towards the entrance.

_Yeah, that sorted him out._

Harper watched him leave, brows furrowing at the worn leather that swallowed his lanky form, the garment far too large for his bony body. The dirtied grey wings of Daryl's vest hung from loosened stitches, a taunting reminder of all the places it had been - the Prison, Terminus, Alexandria too - and the man that it belonged to. He no longer had his vest.

Muscles tight, Harper straightened her posture and barked at the Saviour.

"Where'd you get the jacket?"

Dwight faced her with caution, shrugging his shoulders.

"Found it." He said, and they both knew it was a lie. Harper forced a smile, contempt rising up her throat and sending a rancid taste across her tongue.

"Looks good." She forced out.

Brows rising slightly and pausing, Dwight sent a nod her way.

"Thanks. I'll see you after your watch." He said, leaving Harper alone in the concrete space.

︽

When her watch was finished, Harper returned the shotgun, palming it off to a Saviour with a skeptical look in his eye. Despite Negan's public insistence that she, as well as their other newbies, were to be treated as one of their own, there was an obvious distrust towards the young Korean woman. While she was smart enough to keep moments such as these to herself, it was doubtful that she could fully win them over.

But she didn't need to convince them all. Just the ones calling the shots.

Rapping her knuckles against the metal door to Dwight's room, Harper licked her lips and looked to the floor. The numbing fury from earlier had resurfaced, the woman running her hands over one another just to bring some sensation into them. There was a low ember burning in her stomach, motivating her to continue the charade.

The man behind the door was insufferable, cowardice oozing out of every orifice and clogging the air around him. As it opened, Harper straightened her posture. Dwight wore a hard expression, brow stiffening when he saw her. It was a very different reaction from this morning.

"I was wondering when you'd be finished on watch." Dwight said, looking back into his room.

A pause hung in the air, Harper waiting for him to continue.

"Well, I'm done now." She muttered. "You wanted me to come by?"

Dwight huffed, collecting a paper plate with a dinner roll from a table beside the door. Closing the room up and making his way down the hall, the strawberry blond beckoned for her to follow, a can of dog food in hand.

"I thought Arat mentioned a dog the other day," Harper said, nodding at the can. A vague memory of a can opener in Carl's hands and a furious Rick flashed before her eyes. "You own one?"

Dwight hesitated for a moment before replying.

"Something like that."

Hesitation littered in her stride, Harper took a moment to think before resuming her walk. While she was taller compared to most women, Dwight's longer legs outstepped her by an inch or two and left her rushing to match his pace. As they rounded a corner, another layer of confusion was added at the sight of an unfamiliar hallway.

"Where are we going?" Harper asked.

Dwight did not respond.

Marching towards a door at the end of the corridor, he locked his fist around the knob before taking a breath, giving Harper a cautionary stare.

"Glad you could make it." Negan called, walking towards the pair from his position against the wall. Giving Dwight the side eye, he flashed Harper a toothy smile. "And here I was, thinking you got lost. Should've known she's too smart for that."

Releasing a shaky breath, Harper gave a half-hearted smile. An awkward silence settled, and Negan glanced at Dwight before raising his brows.

"You got everything sorted out?" He asked.

The Saviour nodded. 

"Good." Negan said firmly. Bringing his bat to rest over a shoulder, the man nodded at the door. "Open her up."

Unlocking the door, the light-haired man held a grim expression before cracking it open. It was too dark to see anything, and Dwight's figure blocked most of Harper's view. The strong smell of urine and sweat wafted from inside, and she gagged. Shifting to the side, she stepped inside the room as the door fully opened, revealing a hunched, naked body in the corner. Peering up at her through oily locks of hair, Daryl squinted and shuffled closer to the wall. 

Eyes widening in alarm, Harper felt her stomach plunge at the sight of his recoiling form. A mixture of shame, relief and guilt flashed through Daryl's piercing blue hues before he looked at the ground, dark circles adding a gaunt and haunting affect to his usually tan skin. Shivering, the man wrapped his arms around his knees, freezing in the cramped metal room.

A sharp inhale stole all air from the room, lungs seizing as Harper's brain scrambled. After relying on her collected nature and restraint for so long, she found herself reeling when no thoughts would emerge. No rationalising, no justification. All she could feel was this blinding fire in her muscles, spreading through her veins. Throwing the roll lamely at the ground near Daryl's feet, Dwight rested his hand on the pistol in his pocket, equally wary of both their prisoner and the woman between them. Tension lined the air like tar, thick and suffocating.

"Now I know this might be a little surprising to see your old buddy locked up like this, but I wanted to show you just how merciful we are here," Negan explained.

Gaze fixed to a spot on the floor, Harper stomped the urge to spit in his face. 

"Merciful," she echoed, trying to remove the venom from her tone. There was a brief silence, and the dark-haired woman felt her lip twitch. Eyes finding Daryl's once again, she held his gaze with an unnerving intensity. Every part of her was screaming to help her friend, to reassure him that she had a plan.

"You should also know that this isn't an everyday occurrence," The Saviour continued, "the both of you are **pretty** **damn** **lucky**. I mean, some hothead redneck like Daryl here can't just land a few and get away with it. Normally we'd set an example with men like him."

Turning to face Harper's seething form, Negan smirked.

"And women like you, well... they normally end up being one of my wives," he said smugly, "but it really would be a waste to coop you up. Quite the markswoman as well as a smartass, I hear."

She could feel Negan's gaze lingering on her body, her skin crawling at the thought, but she couldn't rip her eyes away from Daryl's curled up form. Taking a step towards her, he came awfully close to her ear. The feeling of his breath down her neck repulsed her.

"People are a resource, Harper. I'm giving you an opportunity."

Lurching from the ground with little self-regard, Daryl grunted and moved to shove Negan away from her. Dwight intercepted the attack before Daryl's fists could land, pushing the weakened man to the floor and kicking him in the ribs. Jumping slightly, Harper felt her body recoil as Negan stepped to the side to watch. 

"Yer don't touch 'er." He yelled. Another kick was planted across his chest, sending a cough throughout his body. Curling into the foetal position, Daryl blocked the blows with his hands before another found purchase against his shoulder.

" **Stop**." Harper snapped. Teeth gritted, she forced herself between Dwight and Daryl's rapidly-bruising body.

"You reconsidering?" Dwight challenged. Something about his stance told Harper that he was eager to continue.

Scoffing, Harper glared, a faux confidence causing her to straighten her back and rip her eyes from the man on the ground. 

"I'm stopping you from making the situation worse."

"Bullshit." Dwight snapped, looming over her. "You're protecting him."

Shaking her head, Harper clenched her jaw. Planting herself firmly to the ground, she tried to appear menacing. 

"You're an idiot if you think I'd risk my life for him." Harper spat out. Regret already began to build in her stomach, dreading her next words. "That piece of shit **killed** my brother. If I had it my way, I'd be the one kicking."

Glare unfaltering, she took another step towards Dwight, poking him in the chest harshly as he took a step back. The movement seemed to confuse him, the Saviour taken aback at how quickly her demeanour had changed.

"But as Negan said, **people** are a resource. Do you want to waste medical supplies fixing broken ribs? You want to wait even longer for him to heal before you can put him to work?"

Turning to Daryl, Harper's anger turned into shame when she realised that he believed every word she had said. Expression faltering, she begged him to understand that this was all a lie. Looking away, Daryl couldn't look her in the eyes another moment, the guilt he felt ready to spill over. 

The sinking feeling in her gut worsened.

Adorning the fierceness in her stance, she looked to Negan and let out a breath.

"He's not worth it." She muttered.

With those words, Harper felt like someone had finished hammering the last nail in her coffin. A sense of sullen condemnation settled over her, clouding her mind. It made her feel like she had lost a piece of herself, finally crossing the line between who she now, and who she going to be. She couldn't let her guilt consumer her - she wouldn't. If she did, then it would all be for nothing. Glenn's death would be for nothing.

That, she feared, was worse than being stuck with these men for the rest of her life.

Negan's expression had transitioned from his usual smugness to that of eager surprise. Taking a deep breath, the man took a moment to think before nodding.

"I've just got one question for you," He said. "Who are you?"

Looking blankly at the floor, Harper's eyes fixated on a polaroid at her feet as she processed what she was seeing. Blinking, she assured herself that this time, the mix of gravel and blood was not a hallucination. It was a real, tactile thing, and someone had dared to take a picture.

She knew what she had to do.

"I am Negan."


	6. Nicotine

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> No one's favourite gal-pal Sherry males her first appearance and Harper's day gets just a little bit worse.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I am so sorry for making you all endure that last chapter. What can I say, I like making characters suffer. Besides, this chapter is where things start to really start to pick up traction into the main storyline, and there will be more Daryl interactions soon.

**BURSTING THROUGH THE** door to the dank stairwell, Harper covered her mouth with one hand and regained her composure. Wringing her hands, she took a deep, aching breath and closed her eyes, an acidic taste climbing up her throat. Concentrating on the sensation of the cool breeze on her skin, the dark-haired woman swallowed thickly and leaned against the railing for support, knuckles white from her grip. A few moments passed like that, the dark-haired Korean trying to quell the churning sensation in her gut.

Daryl was still in there, and she couldn't do anything to help him.

Surrounded by an endless cycle of bloodthirst and regret, the urge to make them **pay** \- to feel pure, unadulterated pain - brought a frightening red across Harper's vision. But, as much as she tried, there was no suppressing the disgust she felt towards herself. It was as if she was constantly caught in limbo, these two warring halves unwilling to let her teeter too close to one side. There was the kind Harper, naive, who was stupid enough to let the group attack in the first place. Then there was this harder, bitter Harper, who barely said a word unless directly addressed. She didn't want to be either of them. She had to be better.

But she really had no choice.

Releasing a determined huff, Harper refused to let the guilt consume her, focusing on revenge. With Negan's death, Glenn and Abraham could have peace, and for Harper, there was retribution. Relishing in the way it would feel when she finally ended it, the woman stifled her typically empathetic nature.

The clicking of high heels on tile grabbed her attention. It was a sound Harper hadn't heard in a long time.

Tilting her head to meet the source of the noise, a woman with glossy brown hair frowned at her from above. The short back dress the other woman wore made it obvious that she was one of Negan's 'wives'. A line of smoke drifted from the cigarette between her lips. The sight reminded Harper of the naked man not far down the hall who used to perch himself on the watchtower and let his legs dangle high above the ground, watching earnestly as the day went by. It was as if she was standing in the blistering heat of the grassy courtyard she once called home, twin chainlink fences encircling her and her family. It left them isolated, but safe.

Harper couldn't remember the last time she felt truly safe.

Taking another drag from her cigarette, the woman peered down the stairwell for others. Satisfied with the level of privacy, she raised a brow.

"You're the one from Alexandria, aren't you?" The woman asked abruptly.

Pushing back from the railing, Harper stood in her own. It started to bother her that the Saviours had labelled her as an outsider and stuck to it.

"My name is Harper."

Nodding, the woman took another glance up the stairwell before making her way down the steps and stopping a few feet away. Huffing, the woman dropped her cigarette butt to the floor and crushed it with her heel. Pressing a fresh one between her lips and covering it her hands, she held the lighter to the end and let a small flame lick at the tobacco inside. Satisfied, she took another puff and slipped the lighter behind her bra.

"No pockets?" Harper joked. 

The woman scoffed. "Nope. You'd think with most people dead and a whole lotta spare clothes that they'd manage to find something with pockets."

Harper nodded, a silence dragging out between them.

"How do you like the place?" The woman asked curtly.

Harper avoided the question, nodding. There was an anger in the other woman's demeanour that felt all too familiar, and a tugging in her gut gave Harper the impression that she was not a friend of the Saviours. It still did not ease her mistrust. 

"At least you got named after something nice. I got lumbered with Sherry."

Harper nodded her head. "That is a bit cruel."

Dragging her hands through her long, tangled waves, Harper sighed and leant her back against the wall. Eyes wandering back the the cigarette now held between Sherry's fingers, Harper watched as the ash dropped of the end and onto the floor.

"You smoke?" Sherry asked, holding out a box of cigarettes.

Raising her hand to decline, Harper stopped herself.

"I don't. But, if you don't care, I'll take one..." She trailed off. "I owe someone."

Sherry shrugged, grabbing a cigarette and slipping it into Harper's jacket pocket.

"Take it. Its a luxury of being one of Negan's lucky girls." She said mockingly. "I can have pretty much whatever I'd like. If I run out of cigarettes, he'll get some more."

Harper swallowed thickly, the light-hearted atmosphere shifting.

" **Fuck**." She muttered, leaning her head back against the wall. Closing her eyes again, she felt the prickling of tears behind her lids. "Sherry, what are we doing?"

Looking to Harper, Sherry waited for the Korean to open her eyes before speaking.

"We're standing in a stairwell."

Harper shook her head, the tears gone before they could spill over. She wouldn't allow herself to say anything else on the matter in front of Sherry.

Sherry pursed her lips, taking a breath in through her nose. 

"I can tell you what I'm doing. I'm staying alive," she stated plainly. When Harper's expression made no change, she continued, face brightening with an idea. "And you're waiting to deliver that cigarette, right?"

A beat passed, and Harper nodded. "Yeah."

"Good," Sherry said, nodding. "Good. Then **that's** what you're doing."

A door creaked from above, followed by flat footfalls. Pressing her palm against the pocket of her jacket, Harper checked to make sure the cigarette was still there. At the feel of the small cylinder, she ducked her head.

"Thanks for the cigarette Sherry."

Sherry gave a small shrug, her petite frame hunched over. 

"Sure."

Walking back out the way she came as silently as possible, Harper steadied her breath and electric nerves. Hurrying down the hallways, she decided it was best to return to her room. Hands thrust inside of her pockets, she avoided making eye contact with the Saviours she passed, only lifting her gaze to ensure she was going the right way. Accidentally locking eyes with one of them, he set his jaw and gave her a firm look. Not breaking the eye contact, Harper kept walking, turning her body to face him as she left. Rolling her eyes, she spun around and rounded the corner, nearly clashing skulls with the person in front of her. Muttering an apology, she kept moving towards her room.

Once she was inside, she shut the door and sighed, the frenetic energy that fuelled her body dissipating into thin air. Running a shaky hand through her hair, she made her way to her bed and sank onto its covers. Crossing her arms over her stomach, she curled into the foetal position and glared at the wall, unblinking. She knew that if she closed her eyes she would see Glenn, and then Abraham. Maybe Daryl too.

A hollowness began to settle in Harper's stomach, and she was suddenly aware of the scentless room. The smell of rotting walkers and the Georgian forest frequently accompanied her time outdoors, and prior to that there was gasoline and the city and sewerage. She'd smelt burning flesh at the prison and bleach sometime after, and even the faintest traces of perfume on some of the women at Alexandria. But this room, it was completely devoid of smell. It was as if it had never been lived in, like the life had been completely sucked out of the space. It was empty.

All she felt was empty.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Its a short one today! But don't worry, the next chapter is a longer one.


End file.
